


i cried, cried my lungs out and stopped crying

by suisei (nanakomatsus)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), xxxHoLic
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Fantasy, Filling In the Gaps, Grief/Mourning, Magic, Post-Avengers Asgard, Wish Fulfillment, does this count as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 10:52:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18754981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanakomatsus/pseuds/suisei
Summary: thor makes a wish (or two)





	1. first meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [fair market value](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859763) by [lazulisong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazulisong/pseuds/lazulisong). 



> so this is me grieving; writing thor... grieving. basically just a self-indulgent fic filling up the spaces between the statesman blowing up and thor meeting the guardians in iw as well as what he was doing at the start of the 5 year gap in endgame.
> 
> **important!** _you do not need to read xxxholic to know what goes on here_ (it's pretty much explained in the story but do give it a try anyway. it's an excellent manga with breathtaking art and a soul crushing story).

 

An explosion of purple. The muted groans of the Statesman caving in on itself. His own ragged voice; a hot rage burning his throat. Fingers curled around leather fabric, holding on tight, so tight. He’s not letting go, not ever, even as a wall of fire consumes them and the metal decks of the ship give way underneath. A piercing throb in the left side of his head, ebbing and flowing, clouding his vision.

 

And then, all at once, nothing. 

  
  
  


 

When he comes to, it’s with greeting of bright, luminescent light and the smell of perfume. It blinds him for a moment; he struggles to gain his senses, violet still seared behind his eyelids. 

 

“Where… Loki,” he garbles, feeling around for his brother as his eye adjusts. The pulsing in his head has faded to a slow, rhythmic pump of blood as it heals. Then, his calloused fingers, skin dry with blood, touch cold, cold skin. Slowly, ignoring the now-intensifying pain returning to eat at his skull, he turns to find himself facing a side profile of his brother. His eyes are still open in shock, blood crusting around his lips, veins grey, complexion ashen. Thor’s gut twists violently as he lets out strangled croaks. 

 

He runs the rough pads of his fingers up Loki’s arm to his cheek gently, as if applying any more pressure would cause his brother’s skin to crumble into dust and whatever remains of him to be lost-

 

“I see you’re awake,” comes a velvety feminine voice from across the room. The Norse god twitches and snaps on guard, heaving himself up to a crouch by Loki, fists clenched, ready to pounce.

 

“Be at rest. I mean you no harm,” says the woman in a calm, placating tone. He lets out a low growl at the base of his throat, glaring her down. A surge of energy pulses through his veins, his blood crackling within him, gathering at the tips of his fingers-

 

“I’m afraid your powers will do you no good.” And she’s right, because he feels the lightning fizz away, only to surge back a moment later to no consequence. Like waves crashing against a glass wall. He lets out a deep breath, and goes to concentrate his energy on healing while he scans the room.

 

It’s a mostly empty space with all four of its walls consisting of sliding doors with panels of what he guesses are traditional paintings of forests, mountains and rivers, lit by a single lamp overhead. He’s stood at the center of a red carpeted floor embroidered with golden dragons. And ahead of him lies his captor, draped across a velvet blue chaise with intricate carvings in its dark wood, elevated by a two-step platform.

 

The woman is dressed in layers of overflowing, pitch black and maroon robes held together at her waist by a wide, stiff belt of crimson. On her head is a crown of red spider lilies with red ribbons braided into her ink black hair, cascading over her shoulders and legs, over the armrest of the chair, spilling onto the floor like rushing waterfalls. 

 

Her eyes are a blood red, staring at him intently as she presses a long, silver pipe to her lips, breathing out a swirl of white, scented fumes. Something about her aloofness tells him that she indeed means no actual harm. It also tells him that she will not be initiating any further conversation lest he begins himself.

 

“Where are we?” He manages to force a little power into his voice. This woman is not to be meddled with, is his first, screaming instinct and so he has to try match up with that.

 

“Tokyo, Japan,” she answers simply, taking a long drag of her pipe. Japan, he recognizes that word. Stark must have mentioned it years ago, rambling about spare part supplies. It must be Earth. He’s on Earth. A little flicker of hopefulness licks at his heart.

 

“But not your Earth. A different one, on a different plane,” she interjects flatly, breathing out. The white smoke rolls into animated ocean waves. The woman smiles to herself in amusement. Thor grits his teeth, his nerves beginning to sizzle.

 

“Who are you?” He bites out, keeping his temperament in check. This lady could help him, if she means no harm as she claims. He’s planning to take advantage of that.

 

The air shifts then. There’s a glint in her eye now.

 

“I go by many titles. The most popular being the Dimensional Witch.”

 

“Your name,” he grinds out, patience wearing thin. She smirks down at him and shifts to sit up.

 

“Maru, Moro,” she calls out. Suddenly, the door behind him slides open revealing two little girls, seemingly twins; one with blue hair and the other with pink. They bow respectfully before entering and trot over to the witch, taking her pipe away in a fancy tray and leaving right after, before he can react. Then, the room is quiet again. The woman now sits more politely, hands folded over her lap, a small smile playing on her lips.

 

“With knowledge of a person’s name, one can lay hold on a piece of the person’s soul,” she begins grimly. “You wish to know my name? I shall give you a name; Yuko Ichihara. And in return, may I know your name, traveller?”

 

Thor clenches his teeth. He is well aware that she knows exactly who he is. Telling her his name would come with consequences. He doesn’t need to be told twice. Whether or not he believes her, he doesn’t want to find out.

 

“I am the King of Asgard, by birthright. Son of Odin.” He announces, back straightening, gaze set. A moment passes before Yuko nods, relenting.

 

“Do you know why you are here in this shop, Son of Odin?”

 

“Shop? Enlighten me, witch,” he holds her gaze steadily,  stone cold.

 

“This is a shop for granting wishes. Only those who want their wishes granted, their strongest desires fulfilled, are allowed to enter. You, King of Asgard, have been led to me because you have such a purpose. It is an inevitability. And so, I will grant any wish of yours but for a price.”

 

“Name your price,” his voice comes out steely, challenging.

 

“Name your wish. And the price will be equal to that of your wish. No more, no less.” Her voice is chillingly calm. He does not need to think.

 

“I want Loki and my people back. All of them.”

 

Her eyes storm over, turning sad. They flutter close.

 

“That is a wish I cannot grant,” she says gravely. He stomps forward a step, lightning threatening to burst at his veins, his lungs filling with suffocating anger.

 

“You said any wish!” He thunders. 

 

“The price is too high. Nothing you can give me will ever be able to pay for it. It is impossible,” she says sorrowfully, rising from her seat, walking towards him. He raises a fist, crying out in anguish.

 

She stands merely a foot away from him, unblinking as he reels his fist back, breathing laboured by the sobs building at his throat.

 

“Instead of regretting what you cannot do, it is better to do what you can. Thus, fate has led you here to me to grant your wish. Everything is inevitable, Son of Odin. What is it that you wish for?”

 

His body shakes, as it is wracked with sobs. His arm drops to his side as he falls to his knees. The grief washes over him, clouding his thoughts, pulling him under.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his brother, lying dead, eyes unseeing. Then, he remembers the bodies of so many others, drifting through space, and just like Loki- never to return home, never to feel warmth again. The storm begins to wane. His tears stop falling. He closes his fists tightly and looks up at the woman defiantly.

 

“I want to send them off properly. Clean. That is my wish,” he says, rising to tower above her, the energy in his veins crackling once again. The witch closes her eyes, nodding solemnly. 

 

“And so it shall be.”

 

Suddenly, a portal opens up, right beside him, circular in shape. Through it, he sees the souls of the fallen Asgardians, rising and walking in space; hundreds of glowing mirages, barely there. There is no wreckage here, just the stars and the moon and the Light ahead. Their clothes are white and untouched, their expressions peaceful as they march ahead. Tears prickle at his eyes.

 

Then, there is a pressure on his shoulder as his brother steps forward, dressed in the same pure garments, his back facing Thor as he prepares to step into the portal. Thor lunges forward.

 

“Brother! Loki! I-” he begins but finds that he can’t speak. His brother turns to him, a sad, hollow smile playing at his lips. 

 

“I-” _Thank you, be safe, be healthy, don’t do anything stupid, take care, I love-_

 

Loki Odinson is gone in a burst of light. 

 

Thor stumbles forward where the portal had closed, breathing hard, tears streaming down his face.

 

“The price,” Yuko’s voice is calm once more, neutral. He turns to her for the last time. 

 

At his feet, a circle of light appears, filled with undecipherable patterns, lined with unrecognizable ancient writing. It glows in hues of pink and peach, with bursts of unfamiliar energy keeping him trapped in the middle.

 

“What are you doing?” The God of Thunder bellows. 

 

“Collecting the price. And sending you on your way.”

 

The roof above him begins to melt into a giant teardrop. Soon, it bursts with a gust of howling wind, opening into another portal. 

 

Then, a golden sword begins its descent. Thor gapes at the broken Hofund, Sword of Heimdall as it is lowered into his hands.

 

“Your payment, from your hand, Thor Odinson.” She fixes him with an expectant stare.

 

His eyes widen, his hunch about her knowing exactly who he is found true. Thor looks down at the metal, sees eons of history flash through his mind, the strong will of the Asgardian people and the power of the Allfather surging through him. They would be proud. He thrusts the sword forward, meeting Yuko’s gaze once more.

 

The witch inclines her head respectfully and says in a foreign language he somehow understands, “The price has been paid.” 

 

With that, the sword disappears from his hold and he is sucked up into space above, the wind leaving his lungs.

 

And it starts again as he floats through the dark, through deep space, surrounded by nebulas and moons.

 

 

 

Until he is wrenched out of the cold in an unfamiliar ship, faced by a group of oddities.

 

“Who are you people?”

 


	2. second greeting

 

He’s been wandering for a long time now. 

 

Exactly how long? Days - weeks, maybe. Stormbreaker is heavy in his hands, like carrying a planet around with him. Even heavier is the crushing weight of his regret, haunting him no matter how far he ventures. He’s seen more of the galaxy during this time than in the past few years. Planets filled with uninhabited evergreen glades, mountains of crystal magenta, rivers of opal. He’s seen it all. And yet, the emptiness gnaws inside him with each passing moment. He is too far trapped in his own mind to pay the great, glowing universe uncoiling before him any attention. It all flashes by in scenes, flickering through his daze like an afterthought; a passing memory.

 

So he doesn’t question anything when he lands on a vaguely Terran world, much less cares. He’s just here for a drink and a meal. Then, he’ll be on his way.

 

He finds himself walking through a dull neighbourhood in a slight haze. He’d landed in a park earlier, crashing into a giant, ancient tree. Flower petals in his mouth, their scent intoxicating, he had picked himself up and decided to take a stroll through the vast area. It is spring, he deciphers from the blooming rainbow of flowers all around him. There are families setting up picnics on a hill of green, green grass. Students playing hooky, frolicking about in their uniforms. It is a happy place. 

 

No sign of whatever loss sustained from the snapping. Odd, he thinks at the back of his mind, but he pushes the thought away as his head begins to pulse and his stomach begins to churn. He really needs that drink. 

 

No one pays him any mind, even when he trudges into multiple restaurants nearby, demanding resources. They don’t seem to even realize his existence.

 

He stumbles down the street. It’s a quaint little place. The houses are packed closely, many of them with flowering trees in the front yard similar to the one he’d landed in at the park, though much smaller and younger. The breeze picks up a flurry of petals and that dizzying scent again. He shakes his head, gritting his teeth as he braves on.

 

After some time, he finds himself at a T-junction. The road opposite him is lined with tall, modern buildings, much like the ones back in New York though more sleek in design and almost entirely made of glass. Except for the one in the lot right in the middle, staring him down as he pauses on the road. 

 

It’s a wooden, double storeyed building with emerald roof tiling. Crescent moons gleam from the top of the pyramid hip roof as well as the cone point of a tower-like section of the building. A large flowering tree, much like the others in the neighbourhood stands tall, shading most of the front yard behind a wooden fence.

 

The contrast is jarring, even to an outsider like Thor. The place even gives him the tingles of an otherworldly kind and thankfully, devoid of any ominous auras. A familiar one even, as if…

 

Grip tightening around Stormbreaker, he makes his way forward, towards the strange building. 

 

As soon as he passes through the wooden fence, the tingles stop. The sizzle in his veins dies down to calm waves. His gaze drifts to his left, to the magnificent blooming tree. It’s much larger up close, eclipsing the sky in a pale pink cloud. Maybe he should’ve taken up Stark’s offer on getting a mobile phone. A photograph would be nice-

 

“It’s a cherry blossom tree. Or ‘sakura’ in Japanese,” comes a male voice from behind him. 

 

Whirling round, wielding Stormbreaker, he turns to face the source of the voice. Lightning crackles at his fingers, unable to break free. He’s felt this before…

 

The man sits at the edge of the veranda, watching him calmly, almost with familiarity. His eyes are a mismatch of sky blue and deep golden framed by circular glasses. He dons a long, purple tunic with matching slacks embroidered with white daffodils. A loose gray robe with prints of stars and a crescent moon hangs off his shoulders much like a cape. A long thread of gold dangles from his ear, stopping just below his shoulder. 

 

“Who are you?” Thor hisses, not letting his guard down. The man inclines his head slightly in greeting, a faint smile playing on his lips.

 

“I am the Shopkeeper,” he says simply, meeting his gaze coolly. The god’s eyes widen in recognition, his grip on the axe falters with the man’s next words. “Or you may know me as the Dimensional Witch.”

 

He lowers Stormbreaker slowly, narrowing his eyes at the pale man, not so much convinced.

 

“I thought it was a woman.”

 

The man lowers his head, lips curving into a sad smile. “Yuko-san is no longer here. She entrusted the ownership of this shop to me.” He tilts his head upwards, expression lighter now. 

 

“Call me Watanuki. Though, of course that is merely one of my many assumed names-” Thor smirks at the parallel. 

 

“And who might you be, traveller?” Watanuki finishes, turning the question over, a familiar glint in his eye, almost exactly mirroring his predecessor.

 

“Thor Odinson, Son of Odin and Freya, King of Asgard-” his voice catches in his throat despite the triumphant tone of his voice. Watanuki smiles in amusement. 

 

“Who would ever give their name out to a complete stranger?” He intones playfully, smirking. Thor grins back, gritting his teeth.

 

“Someone who has nothing to lose,” he declares. The other man raises an eyebrow.

 

“‘Nothing to lose’? Surely, you have much that is precious to you. That’s why you’re here, in this shop, is it not?” 

 

The God of Thunder fixes him with a glare. This man knows about the survivors of the Statesman, the last of his people-

 

“You know about them?” He hisses. Watanuki doesn’t respond, simply staring back intently. Thor shakes his head. Of course. Finally, he straightens, clearing his head, a small light in the back of his mind increasing with clarity. The Shopkeeper nods.

 

“Now, Thor Odinson. Shall I grant your wish?”

 

 

 

A new home for his people.

 

That is all he wants. For what’s left of Asgard to prosper, be it in whatever small way, wherever they may be. He wants the remnants of his people safe and away from all danger. He would give anything to keep Asgard alive; its traditions, its beliefs, its children. It’s all he has left. And now, he wants somewhere to give them a new life. To start over.

 

“The price will be high,” Watanuki warns him as they stand face-to-face in a room. Similar to the one before, its four walls are panelled with traditional paintings; this time depicting raging ocean waves, flowing around them. The mat covering the floor beneath their feet is weaved bamboo; pale green and calming. 

 

“It shall be paid,” Thor says, determined. The witch acknowledges his resolve with a solemn nod before turning away, calling out to the front door.

 

“Maru, Moro! Bring me the wards and the container,” he says to the strange twins from before. Thor spares a glance over his shoulder where they stand, fingers intertwined, beaming at their master. They haven’t aged a day.

 

Moments later, they appear with pieces of ancient paper with bizarre writing inked onto the cracked surface and a small, lacquer box. Thor stands confuddled as Watanuki heads to a corner of the room and pastes the parchment onto the wooden beam. He proceeds to stick them on all three other corners before assuming his former position a few feet away from his customer, meeting his eyes with an apologetic smile.

 

“Shall we?” He doesn’t wait for a reply before pointing two fingers at the lacquer box placed on the floor, muttering in a foreign tongue.

 

A blazing circle draws itself around them, glowing pink and peach just like the time before. The wooden box unlatches and opens. A glowing glass vial in the shape of a teardrop rises from within. Its intricate silver stopper loosens. Around them, the wind howls, mixed with powerful magic, streaks of light spiralling about them.

 

“The price, Thor Odinson, is the blue of your remaining eye,” Watanuki says. “Be warned that it is not just the hue; the part of your soul, your magic and your happiness that resides within that eye will be taken as well,” he continues, voice grave.

 

“And what of me?” It is a selfish question, Thor realizes. But he can’t stop himself from asking anyway. The witch smiles sadly.

 

“You will suffer, yes. Just as you have suffered until now. But it will be within the confines of your own mind. Then, it is up to you to decide whether to fill the hole it leaves or to let it consume you whole.”

 

He thinks for a moment, not of himself, but of his people and what this would do for them, feels a sliver of hope in his heart of hearts. 

 

“I accept. I will pay.”

 

More suffering. The cruelty of the gods have no end, he chuckles inwardly. A drink would be nice, the Norse thinks to himself gingerly. Then, as if privy to his thoughts, Watanuki interjects. “I hope we do get the opportunity to share some rice wine in the future.”

 

The god smiles relentingly. “I hope I never have to see you again, witch.” 

 

The shopkeeper returns the gesture, shrugging. “Well, it may be for the best that our paths never cross again.” Then, he raises his arm, pointing his fingers diagonally to the sky.

 

“The choice has been made.”

 

With that, a stream of strange patterns burst out from the tips of his fingers and begin to encircle the king, glowing white. Electricity shoots up his veins. His eye begins to glow. A hot, searing pain begins to gradually intensify. He lets out a gasp.

 

Then, a ribbon of blue begins streaming out of his eye into the vial. Thor lets out a sharp cry as his body begins to burn. All he sees is Light; bright, unforgiving Light. As he feels himself disintegrate, he hears a single, foreign voice.

 

“The price has been paid.”

 

 

 

He stands at the edge of a cliff. The grass is thick and soft under his leather-clad heels. The smell and sound of the ocean overpowers the rush of blood in his ears. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

 

The sunlight is muted, the wind is chilly but the weather overall is pleasant. He scans the area. Before him is the ocean, great and big and so, very blue. Behind him is a tall, white cylindrical building he recognizes as what is called a lighthouse. Below him, to his right, is an abandoned port. It’s a little worse for wear. But they’ll survive as they always have.

 

A new home. A new Asgard.

 

Suddenly, a warm hand taps him gently on the shoulder. He turns to it.

 

“Your majesty.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for everything, marvel. looking forward for what comes next.


End file.
